


no one's gonna love you anyway

by nahiko



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety Issues, Bullying, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Loneliness, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mood Swings, Pining, Psychological Drama, Relationship Issues, Romance, Sad, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahiko/pseuds/nahiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(TEMPORARY HIATUS ― the next chapters are all outlined, but my muse has been running away from me since the end of June/2015, and it seems to avoid this fic in particular. It's not abandoned, but an update will probably take quite a while to be made.)</p><p>They may be on the same page here ― it doesn't mean they're friends. Midorima's been the weird kid his whole life and he knows how it feels to be left behind just because you're too strange for anyone to bear you, to actually try to understand you. Takao never said he would act any different and, honestly, Midorima shouldn't have expected anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Midorima, my dear love. I just can't get over this plot bunny. I'm sorry.
> 
> So. This is probably going to be awkwardly long and it'll take a lot of my time. The characters are (also probably) ooc, and even though it's something that kinda bothers me, I'm trying not to get annoyed by it.
> 
> Any mistakes, or if you think I should tag something, please, please, let me know!  
> More than that, I just hope you enjoy.

_But, look, you were always begging and no one seemed to care — you were always alone, and none of them ever looked your way. What’s the whole point, anyway? You may be lonely but you don’t want to be alone and it never mattered because that’s what you always were: alone. Gripping tightly to your wishful dreams and expecting for some kind of miracle that never came. That’s the life you’ve wanted to live? That’s what you dreamed about? People are cruel and the world is not a happy place. Still, you held on to that fading thread of hope and waited for some kind of miracle that never happened. You waited for the saviour that never came, for the doors to be open, for your prayers to be answered._

_Tell me: was it worth it? Because your heart is broken and your soul is shattered but I don’t see you giving up. Can you keep going even when there’s no more hope? Can you keep going even when it hurts more than you think you can stand?_

 

* * *

 

Midorima’s always been the weird kid — tall, wearing glasses and _who the hell has natural green hair anyway?_ —, but not ever only for his appearance. People often misunderstood him — his silence as arrogance, his shyness and lack of social abilities as if he was trying not to befriend anyone because he considered himself too good to be with them. Sometimes, there’s no use lying, he _did think_ he was — but only when angry, lonely and hurt, he wanted them to stop looking at him as if he was a fucking freak.

As he grew older and nothing truly ever changed — guess Midorima just accepted it. Albeit it wasn’t something that made him feel _good_ , it was something he knew he could live with, or at least he thought he could. The constant hope that someone would actually try and reach out to him was something familiar. Even if no one did it… Well. Midorima would find a way to get used to it.

He always did.

Now. What he can’t get used to, doesn’t feel like he can, is that boy from Biochemistry Lab — the one with raven black hair and silvery blue eyes. What he can’t get used to is that boy’s cheerfulness, his easy smiles, his jokes, the way he’s so clearly comfortable around _anyone_ — even someone as left out as Midorima. What he can’t get used to are those friday mornings when the boy will so casually slip to the sit besides him and _greet him_ and _talk to him_ as if it’s something natural, as if it’s a normal occurrence.

What Midorima can’t get used to is the damn cozy feeling at the bottom of his stomach, the way his lips will want to curl upwards and his cheeks will flush and he will crave so much for that damned class because maybe — just maybe, he’ll never take it for granted — Takao Kazunari will smile at him again.

Midorima doesn’t understand why he feels this way. He doesn’t want to. Some part of him is too afraid — afraid of what it may be, afraid that if he understands what it is, people will see it too, and Takao will be disgusted by him and Midorima will feel worse than he already feels. He knows, deep inside, that he shouldn’t be like this when it comes to Takao, to another boy. He knows. Everyone will say nasty things if they discover and then Midorima will have to find another brightest point of the week because Takao will stop smiling at him, thinking he’ll get the wrong idea, and this isn’t something he _wants_. This — he would never want it.

Others may say he’s overreacting, but Midorima knows he’s not; good things don’t usually happen to him, and if they do, it’s surely some kind of mistake — and even if _this_ wasn’t a mistake, he would probably ruin it, anyway, because that’s what he always does.

Midorima’s stopped believing in miracles a long, long time ago.

 

* * *

 

So, he’s expecting just another friday morning when Takao will be all smiles and bright eyes and his stomach will turn painfully whenever he looks at the boy in wonder, and the teacher will talk about chemical bonds and reactions and the human body, and he will absentmindedly note whatever he can, circling points here and there where he knows he can probably have some hard time studying.

His lucky item for the day this time is a penguin charm that found its way on his pencil case, and he truly expects that no one notices this — it was hard enough last time, when someone thought it would be funny to mess with him and he ended up losing the bear figurine, just for his mom to scream at him because it was his grandpa’s and he would be completely mad when he found out about the lost. It’s not like the penguin charm was expensive, but it wasn’t cheap, either. He would prefer not to throw his parents’ money away, thank you very much.

Anyway. As if Midorima’s not unlucky enough, despite his efforts, and things never go as he expects them to go, the teacher decides to come up with a group project that’s supposed to last through the whole semester. He impatiently waits for the pairs to be made, and he knows he’s probably going to end up alone, because, let’s be real, that’s what always happens. It’s not like he’s not good enough with Biochemistry or anything, but people usually prefer not having to keep any kind of contact with the green haired weirdo from third desk.

That’s when Takao pokes his right arm softly.

Midorima turns his eyes, staring at the boy, somewhat confused, somewhat alarmed. He didn’t do anything wrong, did he?

Unaware of his uneasiness, Takao just keeps that awfully beautiful smile plastered all over his face.

“Hey, Midorima-kun. Do you want to be my group partner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Takao will start this calling him "Midorima-kun". I don't regret it.  
> I have no idea when this will be updated. Hours? Days? Weeks? I'll try not to take this long, though.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: I'm sorry that it took me this long to update. I have been sick since last week and I'm just starting to get better now (and I know I said I had no idea how often I would do it, but still... ). I hope you can forgive me :(  
> Secondly, I would also like to apologize for my answers in the comments: I never quite know what to say, and sometimes it makes me come off as indifferent (or even rude, I’m not sure), but, like, seriously. I’m just awkwardly awkward.
> 
> About the chapter:  
> I didn't know what name should I give to Midorima's mother, but I called his sister "Kawori". And I feel like I don't know where I'm going to, even though I do know where I'm heading to.  
> That's weird.  
> Anyway. There's not much Midorima/Takao interaction in this chapter (and if I'm not wrong, there's not going to be that much on the next one, too), but in my head the situation didn't call for it. To be fair, there's going to be a lot of interaction when they finally start the project (that I'm still trying to find a way to talk about without it looking completely out of place), which, hopefully, won't take that long.  
>  ~~I'm so nervous I don't even know why someone send help~~
> 
> Any mistakes, or if you think I should tag something, please, please, let me know!  
> More than that, I just hope you enjoy.

If not for the “Midorima-kun” and the way Takao looks at him expectantly, he would be sure he’d misheard. But the teacher keeps waiting for the pairs to be made and Takao keeps staring and albeit it doesn’t _seem_ any real, Midorima knows it is.

He adjusts his glasses and shrugs awkwardly, not really knowing what to do. Some part of him just makes him want to avert his gaze and not to answer — another one is hit by a wave of excitement that he can't quite stop.

It can't be so bad, can it? Probably. Hopefully.

“I... Uh.... Okay. Sure.”

Takao looks pleased enough with the answer and, quietly, they both look at the teacher again.

 

* * *

 

When class is over, Midorima is waiting. His hands tremble slightly, but he uses them to pack up his things slowly and hopes it’s not too noticeable. He feels uncomfortable, not sure about what he should be expecting, and he hates that fate just seems to _love_ doing this kind of things to him.

So — of course he’s waiting. It still takes all he has not to jump when Takao stops by his side.

“Midorima-kun.”

He’s going to keep cool, and not looking. He _is_.

“Yes?”

“How do you want to do the project? Do you think we could do it here? Or in our homes? What do you prefer?” the words almost seem to overflow from Takao’s mouth, wrapping up around Midorima, suffocating him.

What does he want? He didn’t think about it. It would’ve been ten times easier if he just hadn’t accepted at all — he could do his project alone and wouldn’t have to answer anything. He doesn’t know if they can do it at his home; mom never told him anything about bringing people home, and it’s not like he ever _had_ anyone, friend or anything, to bring home. The prospect of going to Takao’s house when he knows as much about the boy as he knows about any other of his classmates, though, is terrifying. But at the same just telling the boy about keeping it in school seems too cold, too indifferent, and this is the first someone has asked him to be their group partner and Midorima doesn’t want to come out as a jerk.

God. Why is this so _hard_?

“I’ll talk to my mom.” he finally looks up to Takao, and is relieved that his voice doesn’t let out how anxious he feels. Maybe there’s something off about it, but hopefully Takao won’t notice.

“Okay! I’ll talk to mine, too. We talk about it on Monday?”

“Y-Yeah.” Midorima stutters.

Monday? Takao never talked to him on monday — just on fridays. Did that mean they were going to see each other during the rest of the week, too? If his — or Takao’s — mother let them, did it mean they would meet outside of school?

“See you on monday, then, Midorima-kun!” waving quickly, Takao turns his back on him and leaves the class.

Midorima feels a soft blush creeping on to his face.

“S… See you.”

 

* * *

 

He gets home the same time he always does — it’s past midday, almost 01:30 p.m.; mom is already there, doing lunch, whilst his sister surely just happened to wake up and is packing up her things for school.

He considers his options heavily — he can talk to his mother now, or he can wait for her to come back from work, later. It’s not an easy choice; it doesn’t happen often, but sometimes she comes home angry because being a nurse doesn’t take just her time — the price is heavy, both physically and emotionally, and the more the years go by, the more Midorima feels as if she’s having a hard time getting better. But it’s something she loves to do  to — help people — and he can never tell her what he truly thinks: that it’s breaking her.

Then, talking about it tomorrow can’t even be considered an option — saturdays are the days when she’ll want to clean up the house, and she _hates_ to do it; she’ll be in a foul mode for the whole day and there won’t be any possibility that she will tell him he can bring a stranger to their home.

Not that the possibilities are high right now, but Midorima thinks he can still have hope.

“I’m home”, he tells the white walls of his house, hearing the noise coming from the kitchen and the sound of a shower upstairs. Midorima leaves his shoes by the door and heads to his room, where he leaves his school bag before coming back down.

“Mom?” he calls, albeit knowing where she is; last time she walked up on him because she didn’t heard he was already home, she almost threw boiling water all over him.

“Kitchen!” she answers.

He stops by the door and watches her cooking.

Midorima has always admired his mother. Not for the loving, caring person she always was when he was a kid — well, that too, but not only for it. What he admired most on her was her strength. Albeit her eyes are soft, there’s something sharp, like danger lurking the surface. She never needed anyone to be complete. She never broke, she never fell, and against all expectations, she kept her family together, she kept them going on. Dad was never home to help her, and she never, not even once, complained about it  — _he does what he can_ , she would say to her children as they grew up with nothing more than two or three encounters a year and photos of a man they didn’t really know. There were bad days, of course — sometimes she would scream and break things and throw them, and Midorima would tell his sister to hide under the bed because he didn’t want her to see their mom like that. There were days when she didn’t work and she would just sit on the couch and stay there all day, staring into nothing, her thoughts a million miles away.

But there were good, amazing days, too, like that time when she got them Disney movies and ice cream and they were awake until late at night — or that other one, in which dad was home and they’d gone to the park and there were lights and Kawori got herself a plush toy and everything seemed okay.

It’s about these days that Midorima thinks when he sees her like this: frying pan in hands, concentrated look on her face, fair hair tied up in a bun. It’s about these days that he thinks when he wishes he could be more like her. Kawori was always more like their mother, she _did_ get mom’s genes, but all Midorima could get were her green eyes. His hair, the shape of his eyes, his jaw, even parts of his personality — they’re all dad’s.

Sixteen years, and he still doesn’t know how he feels about this.

“Do you need help?”

“No, no, it’s ok. Just go and see if Kawori has finished up her bath, right? Lunch will be ready in a minute.”

Nodding, Midorima leaves.

 

* * *

 

“Kawori, go brush your teeth. We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Yes, mom!”

Always enthusiastic, Kawori jumps from her sit and runs to her run, golden hair rushing wildly behind her. Midorima can’t understand what’s so good and exciting about school — but then, Kawori _does_ have friends, after all, and maybe being seven makes everything look better than it really is. He doesn’t remember ever feeling like this when _he_ was seven, but still.

“Mom?” Midorima speaks up, slowly, when he’s sure Kawori can’t hear him. For some reason, whenever he wants to ask anything, having her near makes him feel uneasy.

“Yes, Shintarou?” mom looks at him, and his mouth feels dry.

He should’ve thought about what he was going to say, shouldn’t he?

“I… Uh… Hum… I have a… Group project. From Biochemistry Lab. I was wondering if I… If my…” how should he talk about Takao? “Group partner could… Come… Here.” feeling her eyes like daggers on him, Midorima stops.

“Group project?” she repeats, quietly, as if considering, and he doesn’t feel like she’s going to say yes.

“He’s not going to stay for too long.” he rushes to say. “Just… Two or three hours a week and… And I’ll clean up the house after he goes away, I swear.” maybe promising they won’t do a mess can help, too.

“What about your sister?”

Midorima resists the urge to frown. He didn’t think about that.

“He can come after she leaves from school. I mean… I’ll still pick her up, but he’ll go away before.” _and it’ll be as if he’s never been here at all._

“And you’ll be alone here the whole afternoon?”

“Uh… Yes?” she frowns, and Midorima just knows he’s just destroyed whatever possibility that Takao can come. “No! I mean. We… Could… Kinda…” _damn._

Midorima loves and admires his mother a lot. He truly, truly does. But sometimes — sometimes he just wishes he could _talk to her_. Talk to her without looking at the ground and feeling like she thinks he’s nothing but the dirty under her feet. Because whenever he tries — like now —, it’s like she’s judging him, telling him to do better, to _be_ better, as if he’s not trying hard enough. It’s worse than when dad’s home, and he’s almost never home. She never even _said_ anything — not more than casual comments he knows that were never meant to hurt him — but… Midorima wishes he could make her understand. Just — if at least he could… Just one time.... Make her proud and then — then maybe…

“I don’t know, Shintarou… Is this boy even your friend?” having no answer but the silence, his mother shakes her head. “I don’t like the idea very much.” she sighs. “I’m sorry, son.”

At least she looks truthful.

“It’s okay.” Midorima says, softly.

They’re not doing the project in his house, then.

He hopes Takao won’t get mad.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My conscience told me that writing Midorima over the weekend wouldn’t make any sense. Usually, they just say nonsense, but this time I decided to follow them and I’m not sure I did the right thing ~~someone send help because I’m pretty sure I’m messing things up~~  
>  ALSO we have an oc making an appearance, but don’t get your hopes high. You’ll understand what I’m talking about when you get to the part where he shows up.  
> I’m oddly enthusiastic about writing this ~~which means that there must be something wrong~~  
>  AND just one more thing before I stop rambling nonsense here (I can't help it, sorry): I promise I'll try to make bigger chapters, just so the story won't look all fragmented, but it's a struggle for me to get to 1k words, so bigger chapters will take longer than this ones already took. Also, school tests have already started, and they'll end just on middle April ~~and I should be studying but I'm writing instead and somehow I should feel guilty but I don't have it in me to even regret~~  
>  So. That's it. Basically ~~I think~~
> 
> Any mistakes, or if you think I should tag something, please, please, let me know!  
> More than that, I just hope you enjoy.

Monday comes crashing to his face with a boy that is already at the classroom when he comes inside. Midorima finds out that he doesn’t have it in him to just go there and recklessly talk — two whole days and he’s not ready to face Takao, not any more than he was on friday. He thought that another worries would crawl back inside him, but even now, as he slowly approaches his desk, the only thing that holds his attention is Takao.

Takao, whom has only-god-knows what class now, but is still here.

Midorima hesitates. He’s torn between carefully tip-toe around Takao, as all his senses scream for him to do, or just going there and act as if everything’s according to some kind of plan — that doesn’t actually exists, but this is just a detail.

He ends up choosing the last, telling himself that _it’s not as if the world is going to end, anyway_ , because Takao's just a boy and it's just school work and once it ends, everything will go back to as it was before. Nothing more, nothing less. There’s probably no reason to worry or over think, and he feels stupid for doing so.

 

“Takao?”

His voice comes out strange, somewhat empty. Midorima scolds himself for saying it so naturally, but, hey, that’s what Takao does, right? Maybe he can do it too. Perhaps he should’ve added a “-kun” in the end, though.

“Midorima-kun!” Takao doesn’t smile, but he seems comfortable enough just sitting on one of the desks near Midorima’s — if he knows where Midorima sits or it’s just a coincidence, the green haired boy will never know. “Everything okay?” not giving him time enough to do anything more than a nod, Takao continues. “Did you talk to your mother?”

Midorima sighs soundlessly.

Right. The project. It’s not as if Takao would be talking to him any other way… He knows it. There’s no reason, not at all, to feel disappointed.

“Yes.” adding details about the conversation isn’t needed. Also, Takao probably wouldn’t want to hear. “We… Uh… It won’t be possible to do the project in my house.”

It must be the longest phrase he’s ever said to a classmate, and Midorima feels that he’s coming off too casual, too indifferent, too _cold_ , and what is he going to do if Takao decides they’re not working together anymore because he is, indeed, a weirdo? Then he’ll have to talk to their teacher and it’s going to be awkward and damn, he should’ve considered it, he should’ve known his mother wouldn’t let them, he should’ve said‒

Takao doesn’t ask.

“Oh.” just looking momentarily puzzled, he shakes his head. “Well. My mom said that as long as we do not burn the house down, then you can come whenever is good to you. Tuesday and Thursdays are a thing, though; I kinda have compromises… But we could make some research on the library first, and then think about properly writing and putting the information together, since we have a lot of time. What do you think?”

Midorima considers.

Takao’s mom doesn’t have any problems with her son bringing people home — apart from the comment of burning the house, this is, but how would they do that, anyway? — but _his_ mom will probably be as comfortable with the idea of him going to a stranger’s house as she is of him _bringing_ said stranger to their house. One way or another, he doesn’t think he has any option other than to do the project in school; which, fairly speaking, probably isn’t going to be easy — the old lady from library doesn’t like him, and neither do the computers, always having weird problems whenever he tries to use them.

But it’s not as if Midorima is going to say any of this things, so he settles for shrugging instead. Apparently, it’s not what Takao was expecting, because he stays silent after the gesture.

More than that — is as if Midorima’s own lack of answers makes him uneasy somehow, shoulders curved and tense and brows furrowed.

Midorima’s stomach drops and he frowns slightly, resisting the urge to act defensively. He didn’t do _anything_. He knows he didn’t. Not this time. Takao shouldn’t be like this — it’s not as if he was _aiming_ for this reaction or…

Midorima is saved from saying anything potentially embarrassing when the bell rings, startling them both.

“Look. Uh. I kinda have to go now, and I don’t know if we can talk about it later, but try to decide what do you want to do until weekend, and then tell me, will you, Midorima-kun?” Takao smiles, but it’s all wrong — this smile is uncomfortable, failing at the edges, and doesn’t seem anything near its enthusiastic self.

This time, he doesn’t wave, too — just stands from the desk where he was sat and goes away as fast as his feet can carry him. Midorima watches him go and tells himself that maybe it wasn’t a good idea, after all.

 

* * *

 

When the first break of the day starts, Midorima _hears_ him before he _sees_ him, and his heart does a dangerous flip in his chest.

“Mi-do-rin~” the voice is sweet, coated in fake cheerfulness, makes Midorima’s skin crawl, and he doesn’t even need to turn; a soft hand touches his back and soon there’s a smiling boy standing besides him.

Michio Nori. Seventeen. Dark brown hair and golden-ish cinnamon eyes that are slightly round-shaped and big, and seem like they could swallow you whole. Square jaw, pink lips, cheekbones sharp. They met last year, first one of high school, and since then there hasn’t been a day the dread anticipation at the bottom of Midorima’s stomach has gone away. He keeps waiting, waiting... For what, he’s not right about, but it surely ain’t a good thing, and it doesn’t even make sense. Michio’s not physically threatening — he’s not as tall as Midorima and there are bulkier boys in the school —, but still… There’s something about his eyes, or maybe the wicked grin permanently on his face, that makes unnerving to be stared at by him, to have him talking to you.

They’re, obviously, not friends — because Midorima doesn’t have friends, and Michio isn’t anyone’s friend.

“How are you today?~” around them, everyone keeps their walking to the refectory, and it’s one of the few times Midorima wishes he could just follow the crowd instead of searching for his own quiet spot to settle down and eat.

“... Fine.” he averts his gaze, slowing his pacing. The conversation will be over quickly, because that’s what always happens, but he doesn’t want to risk Michio deciding to stay with him the whole time. “I’m... Fine.”

“Oh~ that’s amazing, isn’t it? I heard Cancer was on the bottom of luckiest signs of the day in Oha Asa this morning....” It wasn’t. It wasn’t the last. Midorima knows it. “No one’s been bothering you, right?”

Midorima swallows.

There’s no apparent threat in Michio’s words. There never is. But whenever he talks… Midorima doesn’t know what to expect, what to do from the things said to him — he doesn’t know how to discern when the other boy is being truthful or mocking, or just trying to get a reaction from him. Right now is no different.

“No. No one.”

Michio stares at him in silence for what seems a long, long time, but really couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

“Good.” he finally says. “I’ve got to be going, but we can always talk later, right?” Michio breaks one more of his grins and moves away, his hands finally leaving Midorima’s back. “Bye bye for now, _Midorima-kun_ ~”

Midorima’s heart stops.

As Michio goes away, he feels that claustrophobic sensation, as if he’s a bug trapped in a spider’s web.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~guess who is destroyed with the ending of Tokyo Ghoul √A~~
> 
>  
> 
> Well... I tried. It's not 2k words, not yet, but almost there ~~one day I'll still write a 2k words chapter~~  
>  AND we finally got to that point where I'll start writing about Midorima/Takao interactions instead of hugging my pillow and crying over my fictional babies ~~or, you know, the fact that I can never write things the way I want to write them, but I always end up liking what I write~~.  
>  ~~now, where is my coffee~~
> 
> Any mistakes, or if you think I should tag something (or should be working harder on something, who knows), please, please, let me know!  
> More than that, I just hope you enjoy.

Michio has always had the ability to make Midorima uncomfortable, but this time it feels as if the mocking has gone too far.

He’s not uncomfortable, he’s _freaking out_. Michio has never called him anything but Midorin, and he didn’t thought it would change anytime soon — but then, out of the blue, he’s Midorima-kun and not Midorin anymore and it doesn’t seem like Michio's messing with him, it seems as if Michio is _warnin_ g him and this is the kind of thing Midorima doesn’t want to deal with. The mockery, being messed with — this he can shrug off and bury somewhere deep in his mind, pretending it won’t eventually come out and make him miserable and sad and angry. The way his stomach turns and he suddenly feels so small, so _scared_ — it’s something he can’t ignore, no matter how hard he pretends he does.

Midorima tries to calm down. Emphasis on _tries_. His heart is still beating fast, he still feels trapped. The knowledge that in a few minutes he’ll have to come back to class and face people he doesn’t want to face — and that probably don’t want to face him either — makes him shiver. The day barely even began and Midorima already feels like he shouldn’t be here, like he should be somewhere else — somewhere where he could hide and not exist at all, not to think at all, because this obligation of being here, of caring; he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it. He’s just — he’s _exhausted_ , and it seems as if he’s falling apart and _goddammit he’s tired, he’s tired, he’s so stupidly_ ‒

“Damn!”

Midorima feels the painful bump on his shoulders and lifts up his eyes, droplets of water falling from his hair — when did he get it wet? “Why don’t you fucking look where‒” the boy stops mid-sentence.

Midorima doesn’t recognize the dirty blond hair, or the hazel iris staring at him, even though the boy’s voice sounds kind of familiar — but then, they study in the same school, and it’s probably a face he’s seen around.

“I’m sorry”, Midorima says quickly, stepping out of the way so the boy can enter the bathroom and he, hopefully, can go out.

The blonde stands still for a moment, his brows furrowed. He almost looks as if he’s going to say something — Midorima braces himself, because he doesn’t really want any more problems in school —, but changes his mind and shrugs it off instead, passing through him without wasting a second glance.

Midorima lets his shoulder fall in relief, not daring to sigh and risk the other hearing him, and gets off the bathroom with sped up pacing.

Maybe if he goes back to class already he’ll be able to work his way out of the anxiety still rising in his chest.

Maybe.

 

* * *

 

Midorima doesn’t know why he’s still lying to himself.

 

* * *

 

“Shintarou?” mom’s voice sounds worried when he comes in the car. “What’s happened?”

Midorima feels his hands trembling slightly as he buckles up the seat belt.

It was stupid to think she wouldn’t ask, he thinks. He didn’t want her to. He doesn’t want to bother her, make her worried over — it’s just foolish things, it always is. But it’s not as if she hasn’t been bothered already — having to leave her duty at the hospital because some guy from another class found him throwing up in the bathroom when they both should be in class, and the counsellor, hearing about it, decided to call her —, and he owes her this much.

Midorima swallows and looks out the window.

“I’m…” he hesitates. “It must’ve been something I ate.”

She analyzes his face, but Midorima shrugs off the worry

Nothing’s wrong.

Nothing’s wrong.

 

* * *

 

Mom offers to try getting the day out — just so he won’t have to go to pick up Kawori at school, and will have someone to take care of him in case he feels sick again — but he declines. “It’s okay”, Midorima tells her, because he doesn’t want her to think he can’t handle it, he doesn’t want her to think about it, he doesn’t want to make her feel as if she’s not doing enough already.

It’s not her fault. None of this is her fault, and the guilty, the heavy feelings that surely would weight her down if she knew, wouldn’t change anything.

At the end of the day, Midorima is still broken.

 

* * *

 

Kawori is oddly quiet when he finally picks her up — a few minutes later, because he ended up sleeping too much and lost track of time. She doesn’t seem upset, though, just… Thoughtful. It’s not bad, not exactly, but Midorima is uneasy — whenever she’s like this, it means there’s something coming.

His suspicions are confirmed when, two blocks from their house, she stops dead on her tracks, and stares at him with sharp, intelligent eyes — too intelligent for a seven year old girl.

“Are you okay?”

Midorima looks at her carefully.

Kawori’s always been like this. They don’t usually talk about things, not more than the trivial, because they’re both too awkward to bring deep conversations out of nowhere. But sometimes — sometimes she’ll look at him as if she _knows_ , as if his bare soul is exposed for her to see, and she’ll ask him about it. Maybe it’s a kid’s thing, or maybe she’s just like that with everyone — the thing is: she can get under his skin, and make him realize that he can pretend whatever he wants to pretend, but people around him aren’t blind enough not to see there’s something not quite right about him.

Midorima closes his hands so tightly, his fingernails cut through his palm.

“I am perfectly fine”, he answers, collected, and Kawori narrows her eyes.

“Liar”, she says, bitterly, but doesn’t push — she never does.

They start walking again, and the rest of the way home is made in complete silence.

 

* * *

 

Midorima’s voice seems struck in his throat. Hidden inside his pocket, the oddly specific lucky item of the day — a Madoka Magica pen he borrowed from Kawori — sets him at ease, but just until the girl in front of him frowns.

“Who?”

“... Takao. Do you know where he is?”

Midorima hopes she does. He truly, truly hopes she does — he doesn’t think he’ll handle too well having to talk to anyone else; it’s already been a struggle to build up his courage just so he wouldn’t immediately go to his class and pretend he shouldn’t be somewhere else.

“Hm… I think I may have seen him in class B? But I’m not sure.”

“Oh.” _oh._ “Thank you.”

With a brief nod, she turns her back on him and goes away, and Midorima exhales quite loudly.

Right. Right. He can do this. Building up the rest of bravery that’s still left, he leaves the classroom and goes to — where did she say? Class B?

 

“Are you free tomorrow after school?” the words escape from his mouth before he feels ready to voice them out.

Takao, seconds before typing something in his cell phone, lifts his eyes to stare at him in confusion.

“Uh… I think so?”

Midorima resists the urge to nervously tug at his glasses, just so he will have something to distract him from what he’s currently doing.

He’s coming off as a freak again, isn’t he?

“Do you think we could start…” he stutters. “D-Doing the research? For our project. From Biochemistry Lab.”

Takao’s expression shifts to comprehension, a feeling akin to relief crossing his eyes — Midorima feels something bubbling at the bottom of his stomach, but he doesn’t want to think about what it means; he has his own problems he doesn’t know how to deal with.

“Oh, that.” Takao furrows his brows for a moment. “I think it’s okay? I mean. Sure.”

Something about the way he says it — voice quiet, unsure, so different from what Midorima is used to — makes Midorima’s chest tighten.

“I. Uh. Okay.” he whispers. And he’s ready to turn his back to Takao and go away, he is, but Midorima’s always running — from people, from situations, from himself, from the _truth_ —, and he doesn’t want to. If it’s bad enough for Kawori to stare at him the way she did yesterday afternoon, he should be trying harder. If he doesn’t want to get better, doesn’t even want to try, who will do it for him, after all?

It’s not a good reason. Certainly not. But it’s what he has now.

Hesitantly, tentatively, Midorima tugs the corner of his lips upwards.

“See you tomorrow, then?”

Maybe he’s so awkward and pathetic, or maybe he’s doing something right — Midorima _definitely_ doesn’t want to know —; the fact is that Takao looks surprised at the attempt of a smile. Surprised enough that he himself smiles, almost in reflex, graceful and natural in a way Midorima knows he won’t be achieving anytime soon.

“Yeah. Of course.”

Midorima nods. Then, as quick as he can without rushing out of sight and looking too desperate, starts walking, heading to his class.

His heart feels as if it’s trying to flee from his chest, and it’s not a pleasant feeling. Not at all.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It started out apparently with nothing but angst and Midorima, but somewhere along the way my fingers started twitching for some fluff and talks about classical music, and then I couldn't stop.  
> I regret nothing.  
>  ~~also: guess who finally wrote a 2k word chapter?~~
> 
> Any mistakes, or if you think I should tag something (or should be working harder on something, who knows), please, please, let me know!  
> More than that, I just hope you enjoy :)

Midorima can’t sleep. He rolls through his bed, kicking the blankets to and fro, changing his pillow, and doesn’t matter what he does, he can’t sleep.

He’s worried. And anxious. More than the usual, this is. He passes the events of the day, and the day before, through his mind, and he can’t help but to think he’s just getting ahead of himself, rushing things, making the same mistakes again and again and again, because it seems like the only thing he manages to do without messing anything up in the process.

He’s worrying mom, and he’s worrying his young sister, and if it gets worse, even father will hear a word about him — he doesn't want father to hear about this. He’s telling himself nothing will change, yet, some part of him is still desperately trying to reach out for others, and it makes him wish for Takao to be the one who will see past the misjudgements — makes him start to put his hopes high, when he promised he wouldn’t do it anymore.

Midorima knows better than to expect anything from anyone — the only thing he can count on is his luck, even when fate doesn’t seem to like him that much —, but the same part of him that wants to make friends is the part of him that wants to believe again, trust again, and for more he thinks he can keep it down, there’s still the possibility that he can’t.

Midorima sighs, and does what seems like the only thing he can do now: waits for the morning to come.

 

* * *

 

Midorima is restless. His hands keep fidgeting the loose button of his shirt, his foot tapping rhythmically on the ground, his lips red and raw from the amount of times he bit them already. It’s not been not even five minutes since the bell rang, but he feels as it’s been forever.

Should he be waiting here, in the courtyard? Should he be in the library already? He didn’t ask, and Takao didn’t tell; but now, thinking about it, he probably should’ve said something — anything would be better than waiting without knowing what to do.

When Takao finally shows up, he’s so nervous he thinks he might throw up.

“Hey.” the boy greets him.

Midorima breathes, the lump in his throat softening just a bit.

“Hey.”

“You’re coming?” Takao turns his head just slightly, indicating the direction they should go, and Midorima nods.

He doesn’t trust enough his voice to do more than just that, even as he follows Takao through the corridors — he hopes it’s not as weird as it feels.

 

* * *

 

“Ok.” Takao has a thoughtful look on his face, biting his lower lip softly while furrowing his brows. “We have to take the series of experiments we did along the month, plus the ones we’re still going to do, and write reports about them. Scientifics procediments, chemical formulas, the occasional balancing and double replacement. Am I forgetting something?”

“Percentage error, materials, goal and introduction?” Midorima suggests.

If he’s going to be sincere with himself, he’s surprised. Pleasantly surprised. It’s not as if anyone ever wanted to do school projects with him, but Midorima knows what usually happens in these situations — one does the work while the other just sits and does nothing at all. Part of him kind of had been expecting Takao to carelessly laid back in his chair and keep asking if Midorima had already finished the research, because he had more important things to do.

It’s probably the first time he’s glad he was wrong.

 

“So.” Takao looks at the books in his hands in a not-much-excited way. “Shall we start?”

 

* * *

 

The first experiment which they are going to do the research is about water treatment. It’s a quite boring subject, in Midorima’s opinion, but this is just because he likes chemical equations more.

Mostly, they don’t talk. Takao shuffles through the pages of some books, he shuffles through the pages of some other books, and that’s everything. It’s not as awkward as he thought it would be. In truth, it’s quite… Comfortable, if Midorima dares to guess. Silence is something he can deal with, he thinks, and maybe it’s okay.

Maybe he can do this.

 

* * *

 

Maybe he can do this, Midorima repeats mentally, and forces himself to talk.

“So… Tomorrow…”

“I’m busy.” Takao is quick to answer. “Tuesdays and Thursdays, remember?” he sounds amused.

“Oh.” suddenly, looking at his shoes is a very interesting thing to do. “Then, uh‒”

“Friday!” the black haired boy startles him, making him look up again, and Takao seems surprised himself with his outburst, but still manages to proceed, a lot calmer. “I may be free on Friday.”

Quietly, maybe too eager, Midorima nods.

When they part ways, there’s a tiny, tiny, tiny bit of excitement growing inside him.

 

* * *

 

Thursday comes and goes without any accidents.

Michio doesn’t come to mess with him.

He doesn’t see Takao through the day — not that he expected to.

Mom smiles at him during lunch, while Kawori tries to rub the tomato sauce off her face.

Midorima feels strangely ok.

 

 

Friday is the same thing as Wednesday. Quietly, they search for interesting facts about water treatment, and it’s easy. Easier than Midorima could’ve hoped for it to be.

 

 

Monday they decide to start the next part of the project. Tyndall scattering.

Midorima pretends not to see Takao scribbling triangle shapes in his notebook

 

 

Tuesday, Midorima is anxious. It’s been a week since Michio, and he didn’t as much as spotted the other in school grounds. He’s not stupid enough to think it means he can have a moment of quietness.

Still, the day comes and goes… And nothing happens.

Midorima feels sick.

He doesn’t know what’s worse: the anticipation of expecting Michio, or actually having the boy coming to talk to him.

 

 

Wednesday, someone manages to catch his lucky item from his desk when he’s not paying enough attention. He doesn’t see it until after the second break of the day, and looking at the shattered polycarbonate plastic in his desk, Midorima can’t help but to think his mom’s going to _kill him_.

(the possibility of getting another Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers CD before going home is null; there’s no nearby store where he could buy it, and if he still searches for one, he’s going to be late to lunch — she’ll want to know why he’s late, and it’ll be useless trying to lie)

The whole time they’re at the library, Takao looks at him in a weird way, as if realizing something’s not quite right, but he doesn’t ask.

Midorima feels miserable.

 

He thinks he’ll be grounded. For life, quite possibly. But mom doesn’t as much as bats an eyelash when he shows her the broken CD — she waves it off as an accident, and asks him to just be a bit more careful next time.

She doesn’t even seems disappointed.

Midorima throws the thing in the trash can, astonished, but not him, nor Kawori, ask mom why she’s so happy.

 

 

Thursday, Midorima goes through the whole day without letting go of the hand mirror.

  


On Friday, when class ends, there’s the usual anxiety nagging up at the back of his neck. The uneasiness softens a bit the moment he leaves the class and spots on Takao waiting for him.

The boy furrows his brows as Midorima approaches him, staring at the Totoro pillow firmly stuck under the other’s arm, but the moment he opens his mouth to ask about it, he seems to change his mind.

“Shall we go?”, he says instead, and Midorima just nods.

 

 

It’s not that they decide to take a break already, or that they’re too ahead of the work, but it’s a mutual agreement that on Monday they’re not staying after class.

Or, at least, Takao’s not. Midorima isn’t upset, even because he said it was okay; it just happens that he is liking the library more than he thought he could, especially considering Mrs. Shiro still looks at him like he offended her in some way — though he’s starting to think it’s not personal, just a consequence of working with teenagers who don’t respect the silence rule.

However, when the last bell of the day rings, he catches the yellow toothbrush that’s on his desk, his bag, and goes off to the library trying not to mind about people whispering and looking at him as if they’ve never seen carrying lucky items that are bigger than a toothbrush.

The library is a lot quieter without the soft sound of Takao’s feet tapping the ground, or his occasional yawns — it’s even uncomfortable when Midorima looks up to check if he’s not sleeping, maybe ask if they could put this or that in their record, just to remember that Takao’s home.

Midorima feels lonely.

 

 

On Wednesday, they’re again at the library. Both of them. And even though there’s no apparent reason to feel like this, Midorima thinks there’s something off about Takao — the way his eyes drift from the paragraph he should be reading to everywhere else, his lips pressed in an almost tight line.

Midorima is still thinking about ask if everything’s ok — would Takao even answer? It’s not his business, after all —, when said boy decides to poke him on the arm with a pencil.

“Midorima-kun.” he says under his breath, just so they won’t disturb the calmness of the usually quiet place.

“... Yeah?” Midorima looks at him with curiosity. Did Takao caught him staring?

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

Not what he was expecting. His lips twitch slightly, wanting to grimace, but Midorima manages to stop.

“I don’t really. Uh. Listen to music.”

“None?” Takao’s mouth is agape. “Aw, c’mon, there must be something you like to hear from time to time!”

Midorima frowns slightly, but considers.

“I… Classical.” maybe.

“Ohh… Things like Beethoven, then?”

“Actually, I prefer Chopin. Sometimes... Kreisler and… Paganini, too.” _Bortkiewicz_ , his mind supplies, but by the confused look in Takao’s face, Midorima knows it would be no use — still, he guesses it’s ok for him to ask the same. “What about you?”

“Nah… The usual stuff.” Takao shrugs, apparently not much interested in sharing his musical taste. “Some of this, some of that… American bands, when I’m the mood… It practically sums up.”

Midorima could let slip an “oh”, but decides to turn his eyes to the book in his hands instead.

Well.

At least he can say he tried.

 

He listens to Tchaikovsky that night.

 

 

“This doesn’t make any sense”, Takao complains on Friday, while they’re solving equations, and Midorima can barely hold back the snort. Takao stares at him. “What?”

“Of course it doesn’t make sense”, he says, as a matter-of-factly, and pushes his glasses up his nose. “You’re doing it wrong.”

_And you used to ask yourself why you didn’t have friends._

Midorima braces himself for a rude remark, knowing that he’s already tempted fate more than once these days, but Takao only stares at him in silence for a few seconds, as if weighing his actions, before sighing and pouting in a overly-dramatic way, his eyes looking more amused than they should be.

“Damn, Shin-chan, you’re too cruel! I’m trying here!”

Shin… Chan? For a moment Midorima is sure he misheard, but then he stares at the boy besides him, and Takao is still pouting.

Not even Kawori calls him like this, and she’s his sister!

“Don’t call me that”. he’s serious, very serious, about it, but he also feels the heat coming up his cheeks, and Takao just laughs.

 

“Shin-chan”, Midorima mutters to himself, with his head in his pillow and his hands close to his chest. He thinks about how comfortable Takao looked while saying it, the over familiar nickname rolling off his tongue as if he’s never called Midorima anything but it.

A part of him wants to be angry — when did he give the other the permission to call him by his first name? —, another is just mildly confused.

What does it mean, anyway?

“Idiot”, he says to no one, and turns to sleep with a smile threatening to show up on his lips.

 

 

Monday, someone throws a paper ball on his desk during English class.

Midorima frowns at it, and, before the teacher sees and thinks he’s talking with someone, hides it in his bag.

(later, when he remembered about it, he would’ve thrown it away — if the paper was still in his bag, this is)

 

 

It’s Wednesday. Again. Takao greets him with an over-excited “Hey, Shin-chan!” that he refuses to acknowledge — doesn’t matter what he says, the other decided to stick with the nickname, and doesn’t seem like letting it go so fast —, and they head together to the library, Takao humming softly while they walk.

It’s no big deal, Midorima barely notices it, until a few known chords reach his ears, and he stops dead on his tracks.

“Are you…” he turns to the boy besides him. “Is it Schön Rosmarin?”

Takao stops humming.

“Uh… Yes?” he lifts one eyebrow, confused.

Midorima just blinks at him.

 

Midorima wonders if Takao did search classical music just so he could mess with him — but then he realizes it would make no sense; it’s not as if the other hadn’t already had the chance to mock him in a bunch of situations in the last days, yet, he didn’t, not even once. It would be strange for him to start now.

(really, he just wants to understand why, from all the songs and composers Takao could’ve heard, he chose the ones he did)

 

“Recitative and Scherzo-Caprice isn’t that good, Shin-chan, just get over it.”

Midorima huffs in disagreement, but doesn’t say a thing.

(mental note: remember to bring the song for Takao to hear, and tell him all the reasons why it is, indeed, a good song)

 

 

Maybe that wasn’t the best decision he could’ve taken. Monday, Takao’s laughter is so loud both of them get kicked out of the library — and even then he doesn’t stop laughing, clutching to his stomach tightly.

Midorima is left standing awkwardly besides him, asking himself what there is of so much fun about the whole situation.

(“I wasn’t being _serious_ ”, is what Takao will tell him when he stops, a few minutes later. “I was just teasing you, Shin-chan!” and then, he will take a deep breath, still smiling. “Since we can’t do any more research today, don’t you want to go to that grocery store with me and buy an ice cream? I’m melting here.”)

 

Later that day, while coming home, Midorima feels lighter than he’s ever been.

It’s not a promise, he knows. The way Takao’s smile gives him a funny feeling at the bottom of his stomach, an almost unbearable wish to smile, too, the way the other boy manages to make him feel at ease…

It’s not a promise, Midorima tells himself, but it may be the beginning of something good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I can't get Schön Rosmarin out of my head someone help me~~
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> A part of me thinks I rushed things up, but I'm still happy with the chapter. If you think I should slow down or something, just tell me, ok?  
> I have no idea when I'll be updating again, but my tests are ending soon, and hopefully I won't take that long.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand more family interaction! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ don't get me wrong, I want more than anything to write about Takao, but I think Midorima's development is needed before anything between them can, like, start. First there was that amazement; he was kind of putting Takao on a pedestal because Takao _talked_ to him, because Takao _smiled_ at him and didn't make him feel like a total weirdo. It's complicated to write a relationship that develops from this kind of situation, because, to me, it feels like he would be with Takao more for admiration than for actually _liking_ him — he would be with Takao and feel grateful that someone could like him enough to have him tag along.  
>  That's not healthy, not at all. First, he needs to _know_ Takao. He needs to meet the person Takao _is_ , not the one he _thought_ Takao to be. And then — then things can start from there.  
>  But of course it's not that simple. Midorima needs to learn to love himself, too; otherwise, he'll forever be stuck on that "grateful that someone could like him enough to have him tag along". Things like this don't happen in a day; it takes time. It takes time, and support, and I don't want to have his family here just to add drama — I want them to be important on his development, I want them to help him, I want them to be there for him.  
> With this chapter, I think I tried to show that even though he's doing better, there's still a long road for him to cross. Some things he'll need to figure out by himself; some things he'll need a little push. And that — that's absolutely okay.
> 
> Summarizing a bit: this chapter is angsty with family fluff. I loved writing it, and it kinda helped me a lot. Day 27 I discovered I didn't score a grade high enough on the tests I needed, and it really affected my humour — writing this chapter gave me the chance to unwind, and I'm feeling much better already.
> 
> If you find any typos, or think I should tag something, or even work harder on something, please, just let me know! More than that, I just hope you enjoy :)
> 
> P.S.: I'm really, really sorry, but at the current moment I have no idea how to answer the two comments left on the last chapter! D: I totally suck at socializing, even through internet. So, to Caellee and TheGuestGirl, my sincere apologies. ASAP, I'll still answer both of you, I swear.

It’s mom who starts with the weird glances at him. On a Tuesday, it’s raining after school, and she calls him to tell she’s coming — he didn’t bring an umbrella, and she doesn’t want to risk him getting sick.

He has his earphones — new and shiny ones that he barely ever used — on when he enters the car, his fingers unconsciously tapping his knees at the music rhythm — Daughtry, which he found  a few nights ago while browsing new bands on internet, trying to guess what is Takao’s kind of music; he couldn’t really settle for one, but ended up with a few more songs in his phone after that. He greets mom in his usual silent way, and she stares at him in what seems like confusion.

It’s ok on the first few seconds; but when a whole minute pass by, Midorima feels himself getting tense, and takes the earphones off, not caring enough to switch the music off.

“Did… Did I do something?” he asks quietly, just barely hesitating. He tries recalling the last days, but he can’t remember if he gave her any reason to be mad or disappointed — which is, frankly, a little over scary, just edging terrifying.

Midorima’s always been good at remembering things he did wrong.

Mom shakes her head.

“No.”

He almost lifts his hands to push up his glasses, but manages to stop himself just in time.

Okay.

Okay.

 

Kawori starts next; quick glances during lunch — she looks the other way whenever their eyes meet —, and unusual silence when they’re coming home from her school — even when Midorima tries (and he’s not that good at coming up with subjects for small or long talks), the only thing he gets is short, monosyllabic answers that do nothing to soften his uneasiness. She’s subtler than their mom — whether it’s better this way, or even worse, he can’t quite decide.

Midorima doesn’t like to be analyzed. He doesn’t like the self-consciousness that comes from when you know someone’s watching you closely: the way you talk, the way you walk, the way you react and the way you do the things you do.

He feels uncomfortable. Like he should be being defensive in his own _house_ , and the only real place where he’s never needed to be anything but himself has ever been his bedroom, but at least before he could shake off the feeling — at least before he could pretend there wasn’t that much flaws for people to stare at and point out, at least he could feel that tiny bit of comfort in his own skin.

Now he can’t.

 

(If Takao realizes he’s been acting stranger lately, he doesn’t say a thing. It’s a bit relaxing for Midorima when he doesn’t stare, nor treats him any different than he did before — at least one thing from last weeks didn’t change; Midorima doesn’t think he’d be able to stand it if even this, _whatever_ it is, became strange, because he knows it’s something he needs. He needs the certainty that comes with routine; he needs to know there's something he can still rely on and maybe not believe, but _hope_ that it will keep being the way it is — hoping that it can keep him sane even when he feels like crumbling.)

 

Things escalate quickly. The glances start on Tuesday — by Saturday, Kawori is thoughtful during dinner, and Midorima knows she wants to ask him something (he just doesn’t expect her to do it in front of their mom).

After dinner, which is usually served at 8 p.m., they had always made a thing of staying on living room together for a while; it’s almost family tradition by now.

Mom is on the couch, her posture relaxed, reading a magazine. Kawori has her head in mom’s lap, playing something on her cell phone. Midorima’s on the floor, sitting next to the small table, his eyes stuck to his homework while his mind drifts somewhere else — he has his earphones on, what seems to be becoming an habit, but the music is low enough that he can hear the soft shuffle of pages of the magazine in his mom’s hands and the action sounds coming from Kawori’s game.

It’s everything normal until his sister decides to break the silence.

“Did something happen?”

Midorima freezes. Then, tentatively, he turns his eyes at her in confusion.

Kawori isn’t even staring at him, her eyes still glued to her cell phone, and mom acts as if she didn’t hear a thing. There’s something strange about the scene, as if they’re doing it on purpose just to wreck his nerves, but — Midorima is honestly confused. First of all, because he doesn’t think he gave his sister any reason to think something happened. Secondly, because she never asked anything about it in front of mom.

“... No?” Midorima fights the urge to frown. His stomach is starting to knot, and it takes all he has not to let his fingers shake.

He _knew_ he had done something wrong. He _knew_. He just doesn’t know _what_ he did, and now the only thing he can do is not to shrink and try to fix whatever is that he messed up.

Kawori shrugs.

“You look happy.”

Her statement hits him like a ton of bricks, all apologies already in his head fading with the blink of an eye.

“I look…” he hesitates. That’s not what he was expecting. Not at all. “Do I?”

“Yes”.

Kawori doesn’t take her eyes out of the game, and mom still acts as if she’s not in the room, but Midorima knows they’re both analyzing him, and it makes him uneasy. It feels like a _test_ — should he have a ready answer to it? Because he has no idea what he’s supposed to say. A part of him just wants to shrug off the observation, and hide under the pretext of homework — another one wants to run away to his bedroom and don’t leave his bed until absolutely necessary.

Midorima ends up hearing none.

“I…” his lips feel dry. “I guess that’s a good thing.”

The shuffling sound stops. Kawori seems baffled for a moment, turning her eyes to him, and mom doesn’t even pretend to read anything anymore — both of them stare at him in astonishment.

Then, slowly, his sister’s lips turn upwards.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S LATE WITH THE CHAPTER.  
> Yep. That's me. Sincerely, I didn't think it would take this much of time writing, since I already knew what was going to happen; when it came to actually typing, though, I couldn't find the words that sounded right. BUT today I woke up and told myself: you're going to study to your test, and when you're done, you'll finish that chapter, no matter what. And then, after a lot of tears and anger and frustrated groans at the keyboard, here I am. ~~okay, i'm being dramatic~~  
>  Still. Am I the only one who feels absurdly happy when I'm about to post the chapter? Because, really.  
>  ~~i know i'm just being weird but i'm happy, ok, don't judge me~~  
>  ALSO before I forget: all the comments were finally (FINALLY, F-I-N-A-L-L-Y) answered! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ if I ever take this long to answer any of you again, feel free to call me out on it, right?
> 
> If you find any typos, or think I should tag something, or even work harder on something, please, just let me know!  
> More than that, I just hope you enjoy :)

It’s Monday, and Midorima goes out to find Takao, hands shaking, Michio’s smile still in his mind.

 _You seem different, Midorima-kun_ , was what he had said. And Midorima, being Midorima, couldn’t answer him, couldn’t find his voice to do so, couldn’t even lift up his eyes to stare at the other boy. That tiny bit of bravery that showed up when he talked to Kawori on Saturday was gone, and all he could do was to hope Michio would leave him alone.

How pathetic was that? Midorima can’t even hide it when he finally spots Takao waiting for him at the door of the library — the way Takao’s eyes stare at his trembling hands makes Midorima want to go away. He goes so far as to open his mouth, a soft “did” leaving his lips in an almost worried voice — and Midorima knows he won’t be able to answer, not again, not this time, maybe not ever —, but ends up changing his mind, and for this Midorima is grateful.

They head to the library in silence.

 

Takao smiles more that day, calling him Shin-chan, bringing up random questions just when tiredness starts to creep up Midorima’s bones. He goes so far as to start humming classical songs under his breath and ask if the other boy doesn’t want to join him.

Midorima kinda does, but he knows he’ll feel a lot calmer if he gets just to hear Takao instead of trying to keep up when he can barely pay attention to what he’s doing — so he just shakes his head softly, trying not to feel guilty when Takao’s shoulders slump slightly.

He doesn’t understand if it’s all Takao trying to cheer him up, or it’s just wishful thinking of his part — maybe a bit of both, if Midorima dares to guess —, but he really isn’t in the mood. Still, he does feel bad when Takao apparently gives up the task, his eyes averting to the book in his hands.

 _If only he could shrug it off_. Then maybe it would be one less reason as to why Takao probably won’t talk to him again once the project is over.

 

“Shin-chan.”

Midorima turns his face to stare carefully at Takao, wondering himself why the other boy is whispering as if he’s telling a secret.

“Yes?” he asks instead, his voice just as quiet as Takao’s.

“Do you want to go get an ice cream?”

Midorima knows he should refuse — the first time he absolutely forgot lunch, and then proceeded to almost tell mom he ate sweets before coming home —, but Takao is smiling again, and he doesn’t want to be the one to clean it off his face.

He ends up nodding hesitantly.

 

He gets a matcha ice, and Takao, a mint chocolate chip one, and they proceed to sit side by side on the bench by the store.

It’s good. Calming. Quiet. The day isn’t too hot, nor too cold, and the wind blows softly on Midorima’s face. He stares at Takao, and the other boy seems comfortable enough, even though they haven’t exchanged nothing but a few words here and there. The anxiety nagging at the back of his neck softens a little — for now, as it seems, it’s okay. They’re okay.

 

He fully intends on leaving like he always does — like both of them always do, nothing but a shy “goodbye” whispered under their breaths —, but the moment he starts to stand up, Takao’s hand touches his shoulder, and Midorima stops mid-act. Objectively, he knows Takao’s never said or did anything in order to mock him — not that he knows, at least —, but it doesn’t change the fact that his heart skips a beat.

His uneasiness must show on his face somehow, because the boy is quick to let go, but his gaze keeps locked on Midorima.

“Look…” he starts as if in doubt before gaining confidence. “Tomorrow… Me and a few other boys use to play basketball in that old court next to the center park. I don’t even know if you play but… Would you like joining us?”

Midorima stares at him in what he hopes to be astonishment, and Takao’s shoulders visibly slump — he seems a bit lost as for what to do, biting his lips so hard it draws a bit of blood.

“I mean, it’s totally ok if you don’t want to! I just… I thought you might…” Takao hesitates. “Never mind.”

“Wait.” the word leaves his mouth without his consent — and by the way Takao’s eyes get wider, Midorima knows he wasn’t expecting it, either. “I…” he has no idea of what he should say, but maybe it’s just his brain having a hard time catching up, because his lips keep moving. “I have to talk to my mother first. I don’t know if she’ll let me.”

For a second, Takao does nothing but to squint, and Midorima tries not to look away.

Then, the boy flashes a smile.

“Ok then, Shin-chan! Would you mind me passing you my phone number? This way you can message me to tell if you'll go.”

 

The warm feeling of his hand accompanies Midorima home.

(it feels good)

 

* * *

 

The realization just crashes on him when, during lunch, Kawori says something about going to a friend’s house the next day. Mom says she can go, and, for a moment, a wave of excitement runs through his body. It’s short lived, though — because his sister can go to places, he tells himself, it doesn’t mean he can do the same.

Midorima tries to swallow, the food like paper in his mouth. His hands are sweating when he finally gives up and leaves the hashi over his half-full bowl. Still, he waits for the sound of Kawori opening the shower upstairs before saying anything.

“Mom.”

She glances at him for a moment before turning to look at the dishes she’s washing again.

“Yes?”

Midorima breathes. _Keep calm_ , he tells himself. _You’re not doing anything wrong_. Somehow, it works — his heart still beats wildly in his chest, but at least he doesn’t feel like he’s going to throw up.

“Tomorrow, can I… Can I go play basketball next to the center park with Takao? After‒ after school, if that’s okay?” his voice doesn’t even fail this time, and Midorima is grateful for it. A part of him thinks she’ll probably deny him, just like she did when he asked if he could bring Takao home, but that was a while ago, and maybe she’s changed his mind?

He’s shocked when she doesn’t hesitate.

“Is Takao that boy from your school? With whom you’re doing that project?”

She looks quite surprised. Midorima can understand — the last time he hung out with anyone was… Well. Never.

“Yes.”

Midorima tries to think of a reason to convince her to let him go, but he can’t come up with any. Maybe if he says he really, really wants to go? But then, he doesn’t know if he wants to go. He wants to be with Takao, yes, but this time it isn’t going to be just them, and Midorima’s never been that good at social interaction.

If anything, he’s afraid — afraid of what it may mean, of what it may be, afraid of embarrassing himself in front of a person he’s coming to like and in front of strangers who will surely laugh, afraid that Takao will start to see him as everyone sees him (the same old Midorima, the weird kid, the loner without friends); Midorima’s afraid —, and nothing good ever comes from when he does things without thinking about the consequences before — but whenever he thinks about the consequences, he wants to give up.

Mom seems oblivious to the conflicting moment he’s facing — she tilts her head for a moment, but answers without a second thought.

“Okay. As long as you don’t come home too late, I don’t see why would it be a problem.”

Her voice scares most of the doubts of Midorima’s head away. He stares at his hands, realizing just now that they’re shaking softly.

“I…” he tries to keep himself from sounding too hopeful. “Does this mean I can go?”

Mom smiles.

“Yes, dear. You can go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Randomly: guess who's tests are starting again? ~~yes, i am very much terrified again, why is this thing so hard, damn~~


End file.
